


Onto Me

by toomuchplor



Series: Schmoop Bomb: The Series [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Babies, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Frottage, M/M, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchplor/pseuds/toomuchplor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the morning Arthur's going to have to check to be sure that any of this actually happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Onto Me

**Author's Note:**

> In what Xen and I are calling the "Schmoop Bomb" series, aka unrepentant baby fic. Takes place a few weeks after the end of Nearly Home. Written before I actually completed the IBB, but kept back until now for obvious reasons.

Arthur gets into bed, and he doesn't really mean to land on Eames but his aim is a little off given how he's tired out of his fucking mind. 

Scant feet away Margaret is making the little happy sated smacking-lip noises that usually follow her three a.m. feeding. Under Arthur's chest and belly, the noises Eames is making are a little less sweet and a little more pained.

"Sorry," says Arthur, or tries to. He's not entirely sure if he wakes up anymore, fully, when he staggers out of bed to feed the baby. Sometimes in the morning he has to rely on Eames' reassurances that he, Arthur, did actually get up.  
   
"If this is foreplay, it's a poor effort," Eames says, voice muffled by the pillow under his cheek, belly down as he is.

"Ha," says Arthur, and wriggles feebly until it's mostly just his left hip and shoulder propped up on the warm strong planes of Eames' body.

He means to drop off immediately, but Arthur's mind doesn't want to settle down, piqued a little by Eames, the sound of his voice, the surprisingly sensual quality of it, low and sleepy. A year ago – a month ago – Arthur wouldn't have been able to help sliding a hand down under the covers, palming the curve of Eames' ass.

"You know," Arthur says, voicing the idea before it's really even formed. "Never mind."  
    
"Hmm, no, go on," Eames says, lifting his head slowly and turning it so he's facing Arthur. "I'm listening, darling."

"No," says Arthur, not quite sure even what he'd meant to say. Eames' mouth is so beautiful. His cheek has a pillow crease running over it at an angle. "Just, I wanted to tell you that”—  
    
Eames waits, patient if sleepy.  
   
"Just because I'm too tired to do anything about it," Arthur says, "doesn't mean I don't still think about fucking you."

Eames' mouth curls ever so slightly. "Darling," he says fondly, in the stupid voice he uses when he's teasing Arthur for having feelings other than irritation and anger.  
    
"Ugh, I shouldn't talk when I'm not awake," Arthur says, embarrassed.

"No, I like it," Eames says, rolling over now so that their thighs twine. Eames' upper arm comes around Arthur's waist, drags Arthur in closer with his usual predatory ease. "Tell me more."  
   
Arthur shifts to rest his cheek on the upper part of Eames' biceps, hiding a little. "I think about it all the time," he says. "Fucking you."

"Hmm," Eames says encouragingly, and if his mouth drops a few kisses onto the top of Arthur's head, Arthur pretends not to notice, not to feel weirdly comforted.  
    
"That's all," Arthur says tightly. "I just wanted to -- tell you that."

"Oh, there must be more," Eames says, not so easily put off. "How are we fucking, when you think about it? Fingers? Tongues? Mouths?"  
   
Arthur groans, wonders if Eames can feel his cheek getting warm through the thin layer of Eames' tee.

"Arthur," Eames presses.  
   
"No," says Arthur, "no, I mean – fucking. You know."  
    
"Mm," Eames says, all warm interest. "How? Me fucking you? You fucking me?"

Arthur hates trying to talk dirty for Eames' benefit, mostly because he's never entirely certain how much of it winds up being for Eames' titillation and how much for Eames' amusement at Arthur's reluctance. He's too tired to argue, though, so Arthur sighs slowly and goes on. "You, fucking me. It's always you fucking me, when I think of it."

Eames rolls his hips into Arthur's just slightly at this; he's not hard, not really even close to it, but there's some interest there. It's – it's nice, actually. Eames is thinking about it, too.  
    
"Face to face?" Eames guesses.  
   
"At first," says Arthur.

"Your legs up round my waist," Eames contributes. "Did I get you wet first?"

"Yeah," Arthur says, safe in the space between Eames' jaw and shoulder. "Your mouth. Then your fingers."

"We have loads of time," Eames speculates. "And we just slept for eight hours uninterrupted, hmm?"  
    
"Yeah," Arthur says, a little more fervently even than he'd intended. "Sleep, and showers, and time."  
   
"Do you use your hand to get me wet too?" Eames asks, and this time when his hips roll into Arthur's, there's just a bit more than mild interest there.

"Mouth," says Arthur, pushing back, rubbing his lips over the skin under Eames' jaw, scratchy and warm and familiar. "I miss how you taste."  
   
“You don’t know how that — when you say things like that,” Eames says, and now his palm is sliding down to the small of Arthur's back, holding Arthur steady as Eames lazily grinds against him. "Fuck, keep talking."

"After you're wet, I get on my back and, and hold my legs up, and you –“ Arthur's having trouble, now, because it seems pretty obvious that they're having sort of semi-conscious sex via frottage while fantasizing together about the sex they're not having, and it's weird and it's good and Arthur has to remember what they're doing and what they're just talking about doing. "You push into me," Arthur finishes, "and it feels so good, it's been so long, I'm tight."

Eames breathes out sharply through his nose and his thrusts break free of laziness and shift into something more demanding, his fingers digging into Arthur's skin, his mouth pressed hot and open against Arthur's scalp. "Did you put the condom on with your mouth, I like it when you," Eames says brokenly, "but your fingers, too, I just like it when you do it."  
    
"No condom," Arthur says, throwing his leg over Eames' hip to get a better angle.

"You don't like fucking without a condom usually,” Eames says, “too messy."

"Messy is good sometimes," Arthur says, "shut up, just," and he lifts his face up to the air, overheated, breathing hard. "Eames, god, come on me, yeah."  
   
"I love fucking you bare, messy," Eames says, and he rolls them over and now he's fitting their hips together, yanking pajama bottoms down and out of the way, pressing Arthur into the mattress. "Are you going to come too?"

"When I'm close you pull out, turn me over," Arthur says, and leans up for a kiss. "I like coming when you're fucking me from behind, I like how raw it is, how you move." He drops back into the pillow and tilts his chin up because Eames is nosing in close to kiss Arthur's neck, open-mouthed and panting. "Sometimes when I look back over my shoulder at you," and he stops himself barely in time.  
   
Eames is too far gone to notice, probably.

But no, his head comes up and his eyes are all sharp interest even as he keeps grinding down into Arthur. "Yeah?"  
   
"You're smiling," Arthur says quietly, and works a hand free so he can touch Eames' mouth. "Like you don't even know you're doing it. Just – smiling."

It's stupid, nothing he can explain, the way Eames' little unknowing smile makes Arthur feel – like Arthur is something that can make Eames feel happy like that, that Eames isn't smiling because he's working a mark or trying to be funny or – Eames is just smiling because he's with Arthur, he's _in_ Arthur, and it makes him happy.

It's too hot, suddenly; the air conditioning isn't enough, and Arthur hates the clothes between him and Eames, the covers still clinging around their hips and legs. Arthur pulls Eames down to kiss him, but can't quite manage anything other than groaning into Eames' open mouth because Eames is coming suddenly, and Arthur's surprised into coming too, and it's all supremely messy and inelegant and they probably managed about one and half minutes of sex there but those are ninety more seconds than they've had in days.

“A smile like this one?" Eames asks, coming up on the palm of one hand and using the other to stroke Arthur's lips.


End file.
